


High

by Saziikins



Series: Family Ties [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Greg is a single parent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-03-01 12:56:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2773784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saziikins/pseuds/Saziikins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock loved fireworks, until his years taking down Moriarty's web. Now the noises make him flinch, and on top of that, Greg is angry at him. </p><p>Two separate Bonfire Nights, told six years apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This wasn't in my original plan for this series, but I realised there's so much angst in the beginning of Greg and Sherlock's relationship that it was hard to understand why they'd even bother. I hope this goes some way to explaining it.
> 
> So, this is set in the Bonfire Night before John Watson enters their lives.

_2008_

He was sat up on his knees on the bed, elbows resting against the windowsill, forehead pressed against the cold window. The fireworks were all fizzles and bangs, bright colours and explosions. It was a welcoming distraction from the war raging in his head. He couldn’t hold onto any thread of thought. His mind was racing.

He didn’t turn around as the door opened and sock-covered feet padded over to the bed. Sherlock allowed himself a small smile as Greg knelt behind him, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. “How long that been going on?” Greg asked.

“About a minute.” Sherlock leaned back into him, closing his eyes for a few seconds. Greg’s hands rested on his hips, his nose brushing along Sherlock’s hairline.

“You like them?” Greg asked, his voice soft. Apart from the bangs outside, everything was still and silent. Restful. If his head could just be quiet, just for a while…

Sherlock nodded. “Mmm. Yes.”

“Not a fan myself. Too loud. Better hope it doesn’t wake the kids up. I’ve only just managed to get them to sleep.”

“They won’t wake up. They were exhausted.”

Greg laughed. “That’s because you were testing their ability to understand opposites all day.”

“It’s an important milestone at their age.”

“And did they pass?”

Sherlock smiled, taking hold of Greg’s hands and bringing them to wrap around his stomach, suddenly keen to have the man wrapped around him. “Flying colours,” he said. “And they were able to draw in a straight line too.”

“So, it was a good day and now they’re worn out.”

Sherlock nodded, stroking Greg’s fingers. The contact was soothing. Quiet. Greg’s lips returned to his neck, peppering little kisses along it. Sherlock sighed. “They’re over.”

“What are?” Greg asked.

“The fireworks.”

Greg chuckled. “We could make our own fireworks in here.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

“I had to go there,” Greg murmured, his fingers dancing over Sherlock’s stomach. His fingers dipped down to undo the top button of Sherlock’s trousers. Sherlock hummed his approval, tilting his head back to rest on Greg’s shoulder.

He closed his eyes, focusing on Greg’s soft caresses as he undid his trousers and stroked his backside and his thighs.

Sherlock turned to face him, lying down on the bed and pulling Greg down with him, pleased when he could finally kiss him. Their lips glided together, soft hums coming from both of them as their bodies pressed together, both half hard, both enjoying the build-up as much as they’d soon be enjoying the main event.

Greg’s hands were worn and firm as he undressed Sherlock, fingers gliding down Sherlock’s chest, mapping areas he’d touched so many times before. Sherlock rolled onto his stomach, resting his head on his arms as those hands moved down his back.

He wasn’t impatient. Sherlock moved his hips a few times to get some friction against his cock, but mostly he lay still, letting Greg kiss the few freckles on his back.

“Are you taking all night?” Sherlock asked. “I had planned to look at the Rice case before bed.”

Greg chuckled against Sherlock’s spine. “Wasn’t planning on it, but I might now.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but he didn’t move. Instead he let out a long sigh as Greg’s hands continued a descent down his back, down over his arse. He held the cheeks apart, and Sherlock held his breath. It would never get easier, he thought, the apprehension while he lay there open and vulnerable and exposed.

Even knowing Greg always admired his body, close to worshipping it, the nerves were always there.

Gone though, when Greg’s tongue flicked against him. Greg was masterful with his mouth, never predictable, never the same. He could work Sherlock up until he felt as though he was walking a tightrope - close to falling into pleasure. Or he could make Sherlock feel weightless, high on sensation but not racing towards climax.

He did that tonight, drawing it out, squeezing Sherlock’s arse, licking, working his tongue round in slow circles.

Sherlock’s head was blank now. Empty at long last.

He responded to Greg’s two fingers pressing inside him by lifting his hips, wordlessly pleading for more.

Greg pushed him back down against the bed, working his fingers in and out slowly. It wasn’t really enough, but Sherlock knew Greg enjoyed torturing him sometimes. He thrived on stringing it out. Sometimes he wanted Sherlock to feel as though he didn’t have to concern himself with anything. He did that now, letting Greg do the work.

“God, I can’t wait to be inside you,” Greg whispered beside his ear, his fingers curling a little. “You should see yourself, Sherlock. You look so blissed out, it’s like… I dunno how to describe it.”

“Drugs.”

“Mmm. You look high.”

“I am high,” Sherlock whispered, letting out a soft gasp. “Oxytocin and vasopressin.”

“Tell me.”

Sherlock’s mouth curved into a smile. “You just like to hear me talk.”

“Like nothing else.”

Greg eased a third finger inside him, and Sherlock gripped onto the pillows, keeping his eyes shut as he focused on the sensations. He tried to talk without being conscious of the words, letting them slip from his lips without inhibitions. “It’s all I can feel,” he murmured. “Just you.”

“Tell me,” Greg breathed out.

“Have you ever…” Sherlock trembled as Greg’s fingers brushed his prostate. “Have you ever been so angry that everything blurs at the edges?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s what it feels like. When you… oh. Oh.” He trembled. “When you do that, it’s your fingers, and they’re the only thing I can focus on. Oh, please, would you just do it already?”

Greg chuckled and kissed Sherlock’s neck. “You want me inside you?”

“If you don’t hurry up, I’m going to roll you over and do it myself.”

“God, that’s a picture.”

“Stop talking and…” He shuddered as Greg’s fingers brushed his prostate again. “ _Please_.”

“I love hearing you say please. It doesn’t happen enough.”

“Get on with it.”

Greg chuckled and pulled his fingers out. Sherlock waited, bereft, turning his head and watching as Greg took off his own clothes and rolled a condom onto his cock. Moments later, he was lifting Sherlock’s hips up and thrusting inside in one glorious motion.

And then Sherlock was gone. The single thing in the universe was the point where their bodies met, Greg thrusting steadily into him. He could feel it all in the tingles in his toes, his cock hard and untouched between his legs. But there was no urgency for his release. Instead, he wanted to draw it out, to have Greg inside him for as long as possible.

He paid attention to all of Greg’s noises, his gasps, the quiver in his voice when he told Sherlock how good he felt, the way he moaned as Sherlock clenched around him.

Soon he was pulling out, flipping Sherlock over and lifting one leg onto his shoulder. Sherlock reached up to wrap his arms around Greg’s neck, pulling him down for a messy kiss.

The angle was perfect for Greg’s cock to press against his prostate with every thrust. It should have bothered Sherlock that Greg knew his body so well that he knew the best positions for maximising Sherlock’s pleasure. Instead, the familiarity of it was comforting. It never felt as though it were enough and always did leave him craving more.

He let out a strangled cry as Greg’s hand wrapped around his cock and finally he was coming, his toes curling, arching up to meet Greg’s steady rhythm.

He watched as Greg came undone. Sherlock was floored by the way he gave in, uninhibited, his body tensing, mouth slack. And then how he relaxed, kissing Sherlock before rolling onto his back beside him.

They lay there like that for a while. Sherlock closed his eyes, his brain slowly beginning to fill with thoughts and ideas again. They didn’t rush though. They swirled, whirlpools.

He smiled as Greg’s hand rested on his forehead, his thumb moving against his temple.

“You with me?” he asked.

Sherlock turned his head, meeting his lips. “No,” he said. “Don’t bring me back down to earth yet.”

Greg laughed, wrapping an arm around Sherlock’s shoulders and pulling him in close. Sherlock rolled his eyes but allowed Greg the hug, resting at his side with one arm draped over Greg’s chest.

“So, the Rice case,” Greg said, stroking Sherlock’s hair. “What are you thinking?”

“Hardly post-sex conversation,” Sherlock replied with a lazy smile, resting his chin on Greg’s chest. “But I was considering the boyfriend.”

“We ruled him out.”

“Mmm.” Sherlock paused, thinking. His head was so much clearer now… “Oh,” he whispered. “Oh, I missed it.”

“What did you miss?”

“The fiancé.”

“Yeah?” Greg asked.

“The fiancé wore an engagement ring.”

“Yeah? So?”

“The body. Elizabeth Rice. She didn’t wear one.”

“So what? Whoever killed her might have taken the ring.”

“No,” Sherlock whispered. “They were supposed to have been engaged for a year, she would have had a soft or rough bit of skin where the ring was. She didn’t.”

Greg groaned. “Have I got to go and arrest him then?”

“I imagine it was a crime of passion,” Sherlock said with a sigh. “I think it’ll wait for tomorrow.”

Greg laughed. “Seriously? You’re not running to go and solve the case?” They both looked up at the window as another firework lit up the sky. Sherlock smiled and sat up, staring out of the window. Greg laughed. “Oh right. Fireworks, much more exciting than solving the case.”

Sherlock nodded and lay back down, far too content in Greg’s arms than he ought to be. But he let it be. The familiarity was lovely for now.

“You’re very good at sex,” Sherlock murmured, taking hold of Greg’s hand. “I can’t work out if it’s better because you know my body or because you’re improving.”

Greg laughed. “Either way, thank you. You’re not bad yourself.”

“I know.” They both looked at each other and laughed.

“Well done team ‘us’,” Greg said with a grin.

Sherlock rolled his eyes but smiled. For once, he was content with their arrangement. It wasn’t often that they worked so well together, and on any other day, he’d be running away in fear. Not tonight. Tonight was good and he’d allow himself a few hours to bask. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is set after the events at John and Mary's wedding.

_2014_

Bang.

Sherlock flinched but did not look up from his laptop. He paused for a moment, and narrowed his eyes. There was no other sound. He clenched his right fist before focusing back on his work.

_There are tens of thousands of moulds. But the species in question is not as fascinating as the rate in which it grows._

Bang. Bang. Pop.

His heart began to race. His shoulders tensed. Shaking his head, he turned his focus back on the words on the screen.

_When determining how long a crime scene may have been left unattended-_

Bang. Pop pop pop fizzle bang.

And then a flash before his eyes. He wasn’t in Baker Street any more he was…

_Running. Feet pounding on hard ground, ice cracking underfoot. The wind so loud and so cold that it made his ears hurt, inside and out. And the bangs. The bright lights. A flare was sent up into the air, but it wasn’t a cry for help. It was aimed to light up the woods to make it easier for them to find him._

_He stopped behind a tree, chest heaving as he fought to get his breath back. His broken collarbone only now began to really hurt. The pain radiated through to his fingertips._

_Cyclists ride with worse injuries than this, that he knew._

_But they weren’t racing people who were threatening to kill them._

Bang.

Sherlock jolted in his chair, pushing backwards from his desk. He was used to the nightmares. Flashbacks during his waking hours were new, and not a welcome experience.

He checked the date. November 2. Was it Bonfire Night already? He Googled the date. No. November 5. So what on earth were they doing, setting off fireworks this early?

He stood up and put his fingers into his ears as he began to pace around the room. He took several deep breaths to return his breathing to normal.

He glanced out of the window. He could see the colours, reds, blues and greens, exploding across the sky. After several minutes, they stopped. But the tension remained. He returned to his work, but he couldn’t focus.

Frustrated, he lay across the sofa and did his best to try and sleep. 

* * *

 He and Greg were sat opposite each other in Greg’s office a few days later, Sherlock flicking through crime scene photographs.

It was the first time they had been in the same room as one other for a couple of months. Sherlock’s encounters with Janine had left a bitter taste in Greg’s mouth. So much so that he’d told Sherlock to stay away from him. He’d ignored Sherlock’s protests that the fake romance was for a case.

Sherlock tried not to give those two months without seeing Greg any thought. They were in the same room again now, Greg having invited him to look at a case he was struggling with. It was good, to be back near him. Though he looked tired, he was at least well and working hard.

“How’s that case going?” Greg asked, taking a sip of his coffee.

Sherlock didn’t lift his head. “May need more time. You’re working tonight, I presume? So I can stay here and work?”

“Out of luck, I’m afraid. Nope. Taking Lily and Matt to a fireworks display.”

“Oh.”

Sherlock grabbed a pen and began to draw on the images, trying to work out the blood spatter patterns.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Greg open his mouth and then close it again. He coughed and then looked directly at Sherlock. “You can come, if you like? They’d love to see you. Been a while. Not since…”

“Mmm.”

Not since Sherlock had been shot by Mary. Not since Greg had found out about Janine.

“Well. You know when,” Greg said, leaning back and rubbing his face. “Like I said, it’s been a while, and they’d be pleased. That’s all I’m saying.”

Sherlock shrugged and grabbed a sheet of tracing paper.

“Alright then,” Greg murmured, standing up and walking out of the office. “Well, that answers that.”

Sherlock looked up as the door slammed shut behind him. He closed his eyes for a moment.

He hated upsetting that man. He’d done it far too much over the past 12 months, whether it was Janine, turning down date nights at Greg’s home or spending more time on the cases submitted to John’s blog than on Yard cases.

In truth, he was pushing Greg away. He knew Greg was better off without him, and the children better off not knowing him. He would let them down in some way, that he could guarantee. And he cared about them too much to allow that to happen.

With a sigh, he collected the papers and stood up. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a poster on Greg’s desk. He picked it up. It advertised a bonfire night event at The Swan, a pub down the road from Greg’s home. He grabbed it, crumpling it up and shoving it in his coat pocket. As he walked past Greg to leave the building, they didn’t even look at one another. 

* * *

 A fireworks evening was his idea of hell.

But the guilt which had knotted itself in his chest was far worse.

Which was why he slid out of a taxi outside The Swan, the poster still in his coat pocket. He walked through the pub, keeping his eyes fixed ahead of him.

He walked through to the pub garden. There was a bonfire at the far end, and a burger stand and makeshift bar.

He spotted Greg, kneeling down in front of Matt and wiping his mouth with a tissue. As he stood up, Matt walked closer to the fencing a few metres away from the bonfire, standing beside Lily.

Taking a deep gulp of cold air, Sherlock wandered through the garden until he fell into step beside Greg.

Greg only glanced at him, his body tensing and then relaxing. “Thought you weren’t interested in tonight,” he muttered.

“I made a mistake,” Sherlock said.

“A lot of mistakes.”

“Fine. Yes. I made a lot of mistakes.”

Greg had a sip of his pint. “You want a drink or anything? They’re selling mulled wine over there.”

“Um… I’m…”

But Greg was already striding away. Biting his lip, Sherlock walked closer to the fence. The children both smiled up at him when they realised who it was.

In the 12 months since he’d returned, he had seen them a handful of times a month. He helped them with some schoolwork and babysat them once when Greg was called away to a case.

“Daddy didn’t tell us you were coming,” Lily said with a bright smile.

Sherlock shook his head. “It was a last minute decision,” he said. “How are you both? How is school?”

“I hate maths,” Matt said, frowning. “Can you help me?”

Sherlock paused for a second. “Of course. If it’s okay with your father.”

“It is okay,” Matt declared on his father’s behalf. “He hates maths.”

Sherlock chuckled. He looked up as Greg stepped beside him and handed him a cup of warm mulled wine. He held it in both hands, feeling the warmth through his gloves.

They watched as one of the bar staff walked closer to the bonfire to set up the fireworks. Sherlock took a deep breath.

“You alright?” Greg murmured.

“I. I had a bad reaction to the fireworks the other night.”

“What do you mean, bad reaction?”

“I’ll tell you… later?” Sherlock glanced at him. “Can we talk later?”

Greg nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, we can talk.”

They stood and listened to the children babbling happily, filling Sherlock in on school and Lily’s football games and Matt’s sticker for good work from the headmaster.

The twins watched the fireworks with awe, gasping and clapping.

Sherlock didn’t feel quite the terror he had a few nights before, though he flinched at the loudest fireworks.

“Good you came,” Greg said suddenly, his voice low. The words, regardless of the content, were soothing. Enough that the next bangs didn't fill Sherlock with the same fear. 

Sherlock frowned. “Is it?”

“Yeah, it is.” Greg nodded towards the children. “And they’re chuffed to bits. I’m pretty chuffed too, truth be told.”

“You hate fireworks.”

Greg smiled. “I know. When I was a kid, I hated the noise. Used to hide under the table with the dog. But you… you liked them. You were high as an aeroplane one day, coming round on Bonfire Night. Loud and shouting your head off. But I sat you down by the window and you watched all the fireworks like they were the greatest things you’d ever seen. But now…”

Sherlock stared up at the sky. “Mmm.”

“You flinch.  Why are you here?”

“You invited me.”

“Didn’t mean you’d have to come. Truth be told, I didn’t expect you to. I wanted you to. But I wasn’t expecting it.”

Sherlock nodded. “I wanted to enjoy it again.”

“And do you?”

Sherlock hesitated. “Lily and Matt do.”

“Mmm. That, they do.”

Sherlock turned to him, feeling warmed by those brown eyes gazing back at him. With a small shrug of one shoulder, he brushed his knuckles against the back of Greg’s hand, not for a single moment expecting anything in return. But Greg didn’t need much encouragement, and moved his hand so he could slip Sherlock’s hand into his own.

Forgiveness. It wasn’t all-encompassing forgiveness, it was only settling their disagreement from earlier that day. But it was good enough for now.

They stood together, watching the fireworks in the sky above them. Matt turned round, saw their joined hands and beamed. He shuffled over, leaning against Sherlock’s side.

“Will you stay?” he asked. "Please?"

Sherlock turned his head to look at Greg, who was already nodding. “Stay as long as you like,” he murmured. “You know that.”

“How many days  will the fireworks last?”

“I expect they’ll finish at the weekend.”

“Then perhaps until then.”

Greg smiled and squeezed his hand. “I’d like that,” he whispered.

Sherlock sighed and leaned into him, dropping his head down onto his shoulder. Soft lips pressed against his forehead and Matt’s small hand found his. Lily joined them minutes later, and Sherlock and Greg dropped their hands so Greg could lift her up onto his shoulders.

They walked out of the park, the fireworks still loud and bright above them. On the way, Matt told Sherlock about his favourite fireworks, and how the hot dogs were far better than the burgers.

Sherlock took Matt to his bedroom while Greg took Lily to bed. Sherlock hardly got a word in edge ways as he helped Matt get into his pyjamas and then brush his teeth. “And then there was this car, big, big, big green car…”

“Brush your teeth, Matt,” Sherlock said, smiling.

“And there’s a…”

“Teeth.”

“Mmmf.”

Sherlock grinned at him. “Spit.”

Matt did and grinned. “And the car was going past a really big lorry. Yellow lorry with lights and a rabbit on the-”

“-Bed now. This way.”

Sherlock tucked him in, turning the light off. He sat on the edge of the bed. “Come on. Eyes closed. Fall asleep for me now.”

“Will you be here in the morning?”

“I promise,” Sherlock said, ducking his head to kiss his forehead. “I’ll even take you to school. Sleep now.”

“Fanks.”

Sherlock smiled and stood up, tiptoeing to the door. He closed it behind him and joined Greg in the kitchen. Greg reached out with one arm and Sherlock padded over leaning into his side.

“It’s alright,” Greg whispered as he wrapped an arm around Sherlock’s waist. “I know I’ve been rough on you recently.”

“I suppose you had cause to be,” Sherlock murmured.

“Yeah, I think I did. But that doesn’t mean I should have ignored you. Truth be told, I did miss you.”

Sherlock sighed and dropped his head so it rested against Greg’s chest, his arms hanging down by his sides as Greg’s arms wound around him.

“You alright?” Greg asked, giving him a gentle squeeze.

“Mmm.” Sherlock lifted his head, gazing at Greg’s warm eyes for a moment. Greg hesitated for just a second before brushing their lips together. Sherlock let out a soft sigh, closing his eyes. But the kiss ended just as soon as it had begun.

“I missed you,” Greg said again against his lips, before stealing another kiss.

Sherlock nodded. “I always miss this when I get here.”

“I know. God, Sherlock, I know, alright?”

Greg sighed and stepped away, handing Sherlock a mug of tea. Sherlock followed him through to the living room where they sat beside each other on the sofa.

“You know. I’ve been really hard on you, Sherlock.”

“You don’t need to apologise for anything,” Sherlock said. “I don’t want you to.”

Greg shrugged. “Hear me out though? I think I’ve been hard on you. I think I was still angry at you, for leaving for two years. And every time you’re here, I love it. And then you go and then I get so frustrated. That stuff with Janine…”

“It was for a case.”

“Whatever it was for. I guess I shouldn’t have got so angry. It’s not like we’re together.”

“Greg…”

Greg raised his hand. “Hang on, Sherlock. Just give a bloke a minute, yeah?”

Sherlock sighed and glanced down at his legs.

“It occurred to me earlier,” Greg continued, “that the more I try and say ‘take this slow’ and ‘give me time and space’, you’re getting further and further away from me.”

Sherlock frowned and looked at him. Greg was gazing at him, wringing his hands as he continued speaking. “One day I’m gonna wake up, and I’ll have lost you. So. So I’m done with keeping you at an arm’s length. You know how I feel about you, and whether you’re in this house or we don’t talk for months, those feelings don’t change. I want to draw a line in the sand. I want… I want…” Greg opened his mouth to say his next word and caught himself. But Sherlock saw it. The shaping of his mouth to say a word beginning with an ‘o’. “The kids to feel like they’ve got two people looking out for them,” Greg finished.

Sherlock stared at him. “Our. You were going to say ‘our kids’. Is that what you think?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“No, but you were going to.”

Greg swallowed and rubbed his knees. “They think we’re together, Sherlock. They know we share a bed, they’ve seen us hold hands. They think you’re my boyfriend.”

“I’m not.”

“I realise that,” Greg muttered bitterly.

“I’m not ready,” Sherlock whispered. “I wish I was but… you’ve got to understand, the reason I’m not ready is because I don’t want to hurt them. If I live here. No, _when_ I live here, I want it to be because I know I can give them everything they need. I want it to be when I can give you everything you need.”

Greg glanced at him. Sherlock lifted Greg’s hand and with his index finger, he traced the outline of a figure of eight on Greg’s palm. Greg nodded at him to show he understood.

“I haven’t reached that centre point yet, but I am getting there,” Sherlock said. “I have some unfinished business but once it’s done. Once it’s done, I’m coming home.”

“You’ve always got a home here,” Greg said.

“I feel as though I’m pushing my luck. They keep getting older and I keep saying ‘no’. When are they going to start questioning you? When they want a mother or another father? Someone who will always be here.”

“Sherlock, you know, when they were just born I thought I needed that. Someone to bring them up with me. But I look at them and I think it’s fine. I did alright on my own. Except, I wasn’t on my own. Even when you were away, you were in their lives and mine. You might not be their dad, but I think they’ll grow up knowing you’ll always be there for them.”

“I hope so.”

Greg nudged him gently. “I know so. Are we done talking? For the moment? Unless you wanted to talk about the fireworks?”

“No,” Sherlock murmured. “No, it doesn’t matter.”

For now, it really didn’t. The bangs had gone, the world was quiet, his head was still and he was with Greg. All in all, nothing else was important.

Greg nodded and leaned towards him, pressing their lips together. Sherlock threaded their fingers together, allowing Greg to dictate the pace.

“Bed?” Greg whispered. 

Sherlock nodded and stood up, anticipation fluttering in his chest. He grasped Greg’s hand as they walked up the stairs to his bedroom.

Greg closed the door and held Sherlock’s face in his hands, their lips meeting again. He was so familiar in so many ways, and yet it felt as though this was the first time they were doing this. Taking the step towards the bed, towards being together again.

It made sense in some ways. Sex was what had brought them together, and throughout their sometimes-volatile relationship, they’d always found themselves in bed. But this was sex for the first time in three years, and too much had changed since then. 

But stripping off each other’s clothes, Sherlock’s hands were shaking. He needed it to be perfect. And he… wasn’t. He wasn’t the same as he had been, not at all.

He averted his eyes as Greg pushed off his shirt, revealing his scars.

“It’s alright,” Greg whispered, kissing him. “I’ve seen them already.”

Sherlock nodded and they moved to lie side by side on the bed, stripped of their clothes. Sherlock rolled over onto his stomach, allowing Greg a chance to map out his body.

He sought Greg’s touch more than he’d ever sought anything. It was grounding. Greg’s lips traced over his scars as he murmured that it was okay.

He needed Greg inside him. He needed to feel that connection, to be as physically close to him as it was possible. Everything felt slow and easy and Sherlock allowed himself to drift.

With Greg’s fingers inside of him, he was riding crests of bliss, his head resting on his arms as he let out soft sighs and gasps. Greg made it last. He whispered endearments and soon, Sherlock was rolling onto his back, his legs around Greg’s waist, arching up to meet his cock as he began to press inside. Their eyes were locked together, mouths meeting in kisses.

So familiar. So different. But the pleasure was the same. The sounds, the want, the desire was all the same. The feelings were different. Deeper and more intense than anything that had come before.

But it was as though they’d never been apart.

Sherlock came with a gasp into Greg’s mouth, and he felt blinding, overwhelming love as Greg came inside him. 

They lay beside one another, Sherlock’s head on Greg’s chest, his fingers carding through his hair.

“How you feeling?” Greg whispered. “You look pretty relaxed.”

Sherlock smiled. He felt high. But ‘high’ meant there was an inevitable ‘low’ to come, and it was so, so much more than that.

“Happy,” he answered, glancing up. The smile which spread over Greg’s face was enough to tell him he’d said the right thing.


End file.
